Leftovers

 Just ten random pictures I have taken in the last month - but not posted before...

The Union Hotel, Nether Edge, Sheffield

Statue of Emmeline Pankhurst in Manchester. She was a leading light in the 

British suffragette movement - campaigning for women to get the vote.

Our Phoebe as a butterfly at Sewerby Park

The author of this blog with a Lego sabre toothed tiger at Sewerby Park

Cobbler's dummy on Ecclesall Road, Sheffield

The Path to Rawmarsh from Parkgate

Railway footbridge at Halfway

Phoebe in the old bearpit - Sheffield Botanical Gardens

Dock plants one evening in Bingham Park Woods, Sheffield

The Royal Hallamshire Hospital, Sheffield - rising above the leafy suburb of Broomhill

And that's all for today folks!

Sisterhood

 

That's Phoebe and Margot on our doorstep on Sunday evening. Phoebe is five and has just begun her second full year at primary school. Margot will be three in November. What I especially like about this photograph is their sisterly hands wrapped in unity around each other. I sincerely hope that they will always be friends, always there for each other even though life might take them miles or continents apart. There won't be any more siblings - just the two of them.

This afternoon, I walked over to the neighbouring suburb of Nether Edge. It's a mile away. And there I thought of two other sisters who were born in Sheffield back in the 1930s. They lived in Number 36, Meadowbank Avenue which is a rather nice Edwardian cul-de-sac with a big green in the middle.

The sisters' names were Margaret and Antonia. Amazingly, they both became internationally acclaimed writers. People who read books will be familiar with both their names - even if you haven't actually read any of their work. As with Phoebe and Margot, there was a three year age gap.

Margaret retained her birth name - Margaret Drabble  while the older sister, Antonia, adopted the name from her first marriage - becoming A.S. Byatt. As I say, it's quite staggering that two girls from the same family should make it to the top - not just by getting their books published but gaining so many plaudits.

Margaret above and Antonia below

Antonia won The Booker Prize for Fiction in 1990 for her novel, "Possession: A Romance", while Margaret received the American Academy of Arts and Letters E.M.Forster Award in 1973, the same year that she became a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature by election.

It has often been said that as sisters they became estranged from each other as the years passed by. How much truth there is in that, I do not know, but if there was an enduring rift it was a real shame. Interestingly, I could not find any pictures of the two sisters together. They had so much in common and both spent countless days and nights crafting brilliant books. They could have been there for each other as I hope our Phoebe and Margot will always be.

36 Meadowbank Avenue - childhood home of Margaret Drabble and A.S.Byatt

Figures

On Saturday, I took the train over to Hull to watch The Tigers draw with Aston Villa. The kick off was at teatime but I travelled earlier in the day because I wanted to visit The Hull and East Riding Museum of Archaeology in the historical port city's old town. It's just a stone's throw from another museum - Wilberforce House - the former home of William Wilberforce, the famous anti-slavery campaigner.

Anyway, in the archaeology museum, two happy hours passed by as your genial correspondent absorbed information about East Yorkshire from its earliest geological beginnings to medieval times. There were many interesting exhibits to illustrate the story including complete Roman floor mosaics from two villas that were discovered in the region. One of them was at Rudston, close to the stone monolith I wrote about very recently.

However, it was another exhibit that left me awestruck. It was inside a climate controlled glass case. Two wooden figures standing on a wooden boat stared back at me from the mists of time. They are known as the Roos Carr Figures and they were found in wetland near the village of Roos in 1836.

Some labourers were digging a drainage ditch and two metres down, totally by accident, they came across a cache of carved wooden items. Some of the items were badly degraded but a few had miraculously survived several centuries in the earth, including The Roos Carr Figures.

They were carved from yew wood and that factor undoubtedly assisted their survival. Radio-carbon dating has indicated that the figures are approximately 2650 years old, carved during a  period that is now known as The Iron Age.

It is believed that there was once a shallow lake where the figures were found and it is speculated that they were left in the mud at the side of the lake as votive offerings to some ancient deity. The figures have detachable wooden penises but at least one expert has pointed out the when the penises are removed, holes that might represent vaginas are left. Perhaps the figures are androgynous.

Although carved from yew, the figures' eye sockets contain rather unnerving quartzite eyeballs.

I stared into that glass box for a few minutes as thoughts bounced around inside my skull. I thought of those swift-minded  labourers who had the presence of mind to stop their work and report what they had found. And I thought about the nineteenth century Hull Literary and Philosophical Society that first cared for the carvings. But mostly I thought about the community from which the strange figures emerged - speaking tantalisingly to future people like me or you.

There is still so much that we do not know.

998

Perhaps inspired by Grandmaw Moon over in northern Florida, I had it in mind to tackle a jigsaw. After all, isn't that one of the things that retired people are meant to do as they watch the clock ticking in God's waiting room?

Being a Yorkshireman, I am as tight as a duck's arse as we say in these parts. I was very reluctant to buy a new jigsaw. Couldn't I just purchase a secondhand one cheaply from a charity shop? Another determining point was this - the jigsaw image needed to be one that I wanted to work on as I knew it would take me hours to do. Google Gemini suggests that it takes  between twelve and twenty hours for a "beginner" to complete a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle.

In the middle of May, I was in the local "British Heart Foundation" charity shop  looking for branded "Old Fella" clothes when I spotted a jigsaw I knew I would like. It only cost £3 and the image was of a lovely village on the North Yorkshire coast that is familiar to me - Staithes just north of Whitby. "Yes!" I said to myself, "that's just the job!"

Anyway, a week later, I began. After what seemed like twelve to twenty hours I had almost completed the outer frame after sifting out all of the pieces with straight edges. I was making progress and then something happened. 

The best Yorkshire summer on record broke out and I did not want to pass my time indoors working on a jigsaw. I wanted to be out doing summery things like  surfing, attending musical festivals and running naked through forests. So the jigsaw was "put on hold" until normal British weather resumed. Staithes could wait.

Then ten days ago, I went back to the jigsaw. This time I set up a table in the front bedroom - right next to the window where  daylight would make the task easier.

In several sessions, I made steady progress though some gaps were hard to fill because mischievous pieces were hiding in plain sight. Doing that jigsaw was a practical challenge and gradually the finishing line came close. Of course, I always knew that there was a real possibility that not all one thousand pieces would be present and sure enough, as the last pieces were pressed home, it became clear that two pieces were missing.

I didn't know how I would feel about that. Would I rage in my "Old Fella" nightgown and toss an incomplete Staithes up in the air or would I calmly accept the reality? I am pleased to report that I was cool about the two missing pieces. It was okay.

However, the next time I decide to do a jigsaw it will be a new one and I will do it in the front bedroom in natural light - hopefully when it's grey outside and drizzle is steadily drizzling. But that won't be any time soon. I am jigsawed out right now.

Negatives

When the Blogger comments glitch happened earlier this week, I asked Google what was wrong and their Gemini AI facility  anticipated other, related questions including, "What  is the dark side of blogging?"

This is what Gemini coughed up and it may be of interest to other bloggers who like me are also actively steeped in the blogosphere and blog production.

⦿

The dark side of blogging involves hidden mental, social, and professional pressures that come with sharing your life and work publicly online.

Burnout and Time Demands

Constant content pressure: You must keep publishing new material to stay relevant, which can drain your creative energy.

No real vacations: Taking a break often means losing readers, search engine traffic, and income.

Hidden workload: Writing is only a small part of the job; research, editing, promotion, and technical upkeep take up most of your hours.

Mental Health and Obsession

Metrics addiction: Constantly checking stats, page views, and follower counts can become an unhealthy obsession.

Harassment and trolls: Public writing invites negative comments, harsh criticism, and unwanted direct messages.

Fear of judgment: Knowing friends, family, or strangers might judge your opinions can cause chronic anxiety.

Impact on Personal Life

Strained relationships: You may spend less time with loved ones because you are always glued to a screen or thinking about your next post.

Loss of privacy: Blurring the line between your private life and public brand means past statements are permanently archived and searchable.

Trapped by past views: Publicly stating an opinion locks your identity into that view, making it harder to change your mind later.

⦿

I  can recognise some elements of all of this but really if these effects  were  obvious and burdensome, it would surely be time to give up blogging and take up a safer, less public hobby such as watching paint dry or counting coins.

Connections

 

It has often appeared strange to me how things can be connected. One thing does indeed lead to another. As Freddie Mercury would have probably agreed, "It's a kind of magic".

Take the book I have just finished reading today - "The Goshawk" by T.H. White. I decided to read it because it meant and still means so much to my significant friend Richard Hines. He often refers to it.

He read it when he was in his late teens and it was this book that inspired him to acquire and "train" his own bird of prey inasmuch as a bird of prey can ever be trained.  Richard had no means of acquiring a goshawk so instead, balanced on a ladder, he surreptitiously took a young kestrel from the ruins of  Tankersley Old Hall just north of Sheffield and through that bird learnt the ancient art of falconry.

His older brother, Barry, observed Richard's new hobby and turned what he had seen into the basis of his famous novel, "A Kestrel for a Knave" which later became "Kes". It was first published in 1968 and afterwards became an iconic film which still resonates with the British public today.

Though Richard is poorly and housebound these days, his face still lights up when he talks about his own kestrel - also called "Kes" - and his involvement in making the film. It was a special time in his life. Another memory that never fails to illuminate his face concerns his visit to T.H. White's rundown and isolated gamekeeper's cottage in Buckinghamshire in the 1990s.

It was here that Terence Hanbury White attempted to train a goshawk in the late 1930s. His book, "The Goshawk" reveals the difficult process involved, the commitment required, the sleepless nights and the trial and error approach he was obliged to take because there was no one he could call upon for guidance.

 Just to give you a taste, here are two short extracts from the book:-

What a bursting heart of gratitude and triumph as the ravening monster slowly paced down the arm with gripping steps and pounced upon his breakfast! The rest of the day was a glow of pleasure, a kind of still life in which the sun shone on the flowers with more than natural brilliance, giving them the high lights of porcelain.

&

It happened like this in the world. Old things lost their grip and dropped away; not always because they were bad things, but sometimes because the new things were more bad, and stronger.

White's life often seemed troubled and living in an isolated cottage with a rare hawk appealed to him because this arrangement provided a welcome retreat from the world. He was also something of a genius  - very knowledgeable about Shakespeare, England's medieval history and Arthurian legends. Did you ever see the Disney film , "The Sword in the Stone"? It was based upon a book of the same name - by T.H. White!

So yes - it's funny how things can be connected - like links in a chain. Without "The Goshawk" there would have been no "Kes" and I would never have met Richard Hines and talked with him for hours about his life, his memories of his kestrel and his brother Barry. And I would never had to present or "teach" "Kes" to hundreds of children in the three South Yorkshire schools that I worked in.

T.H.White (1906-1964)

Branding

When it comes to apparel, why are so many people obsessed with branding? Let me say straight away that I am not. In fact, I go the other way and actively seek out items that have no obvious signs of branding logos and the like. I have even been known to snip off or unpick designer labels.

And yet for many there is comfort in the labelling and branding. It is as if they are perfectly happy to go about advertising the companies that manufactured the clothing and footwear they purchased - often at large expense. They probably think that people like me are just plain weird... "Did you see that bloke? It was impossible to spot which brands he was wearing!" and maybe, "What's wrong with him?"

I grew up in a world without obvious branding  - apart from that which appeared on motor vehicles. Mostly things were plain and it was impossible to discern what brands other people were wearing - not that anyone was bothered of course. And this was even true of sportswear.

I don't bristle very much when the logos or brand names are quite small and discreet but when the labelling is big and brash, I shake my head as I look on. Why? and What's going on? Why have people allowed themselves to be sucked into the branding game where the items you wear seem somehow to speak of your perceived status?